Fall From Grace
by a red burn
Summary: My vision of how things went out after Chesapeake Bay. Clarice is having a hard time trying to deal with everything that happened and as she struggles with her own emotions she finds herself in a deep breakdown.


**Fall From Grace**

**Chapter 1**

**Author:** Andréa

**Summary:** My vision of how things went out after Chesapeake Bay. Clarice is having a hard time trying to deal with everything that happened and as she struggles with her own emotions she finds herself in a deep breakdown.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. Surely enough I'm not making any money out of it, either. I just want to have some fun. Also, several lines from the movie I'm using and they're not mine either.  
Timeline: movie ending.

**Author's note:** so, yeah, first off English isn't my native language, so forgive all the grammar mistakes and typos. I finally got my Hannibal DVD and though I have watched the movie several times, I'm just so excited about it that I had to write something because the ending just sucks. The book is way better. But books always are...  
  
Anything I, for some reason, wrote wrong in here please feel free to give me a heads up. Any help will be appreciated.  
  
Also this is the only chapter I have. Yes, I'm going to continue this but it depends a lot on the reviews I get. I need to know if my work is being apreciated, for if not, what's the point of continuating? - And, well, I have a plot going around my head but I don't have idea what I'm going to write so I need time for the words come up in my head.  
  
Review please, any feedback is accepted with shrieks of glee =]But please, please, please, don't flame. That is so not nice. It really makes people feel like crap. pout  
  
H-C

"In the dead of night/as the candles die out/I'm watching her going to sleep/she has to be strong/she's left all along/.../through out every night/to think of what might have been/you're all I ever wanted/you're my life and my lust/I could never mean to hurt you, my love/ " Dream Evil - Losing You.  
H-C  
  
She waited with the fear one must feel when death is almost arriving, with the same cold-freezing feeling of dread and fright as she waited for the poignant pain she was sure would come any minute. Her breath becoming short and quick, the adrenaline of the day's events becoming even the more powerful -as if it was possible- and she could even feel her heart pounding so much intensely in her chest that it felt as if it'd explode.  
  
The seconds turned into minutes -an eternity. She could hear the too slow tick tock of the clock on the next room, the wind outside, the beat of her own heart along with Lecter's. Not so surprisingly, his wasn't beating with such velocity that hers was, his hadn't even sped a single beat. Wasn't he even sorry for her? Didn't he feel a single tiny bit of pity for her? Was he just going to cut her hand off like that and don't even look at her in the face? Was he going to let her bleed to death...? Was he even going to hurt her? Did he have the courage? She always believed, deep down, that after all that had happened he'd never be able to hurt her, harm her in any way.  
  
She had no idea how all those thoughts entered her mind within the two seconds it took for him to bring the knife down. It had passed so unbelievably quickly that she almost thought it hadn't happened. She heard the nervous, deadening sound of bones breaking and she bit her lip so strongly to keep the pain outside that the action broke the delicate skin of her lip and made a drop of blood come out. She heard the sound of blood dropping to the floor and the sound of the cuffs shaking.  
  
But she did not feel the lingering, want-to-die pain she thought would always come with an amputated member. She did not feel warm blood flowing down her arm like she thought would happen as soon as her hand was chopped off. Honestly she felt nothing. Clarice always believed that such injury hurt like the hell itself, but for the pain being so incredible intense she felt nothing at all, that the injury must have been deadened.  
  
It took her a second or two to realize that everything was quiet -too quiet- and that she didn't feel any pain not because the injury had been to enormous, but because she had no injury. Opening her eyes very slowly, she blinked at the light that suddenly bothered her and instead of seeing the serial-killer that so much frightened and amazed her; she saw only the emptiness of the kitchen, which she shared with the almost dead body of Paul Krendler.  
  
It took her another second or two to realize that Lecter had escaped -again- and that it wasn't her hand he had mutilated, but his own. The quantity of blood on the kitchen floor was like a big outdoors, telling her that the mutilation hadn't been a small one either. It must have hurt more than he told her it would and for the quantity of blood she was staring helplessly at, she was glad she wasn't the one with the injury.  
  
Which brought the question to her mind: why hadn't he cut her hand instead? Why harm himself?  
  
Shaking her head to clear it from all the current thoughts, she took a step ahead only to be severely pulled back by her ponytail still obviously locked in the firdge. She made a face of pain and brought one hand up to massage the nape of her head and to try to pull her hair from the fridge -without success. With one hand behind her, she tried to open it without the fridge handle -formely broken by Lecter- which with only a few tries she finally succeeded and groggily and still thrilled with all the commotion of what had happened, she walked, faltered to the outside of the cottage, leaving the body of Paul Krendler behind, not really preoccupied about him under the situation she found herself, with she on nothing but the relief she felt she still had her life.  
  
H-H-H-H  
  
With her hands raised, she waited patiently for the cops to reach her just down the hill, as she still stared meaningfully at the aparently empty boat, which she was almost sure Dr. Lecter was inside before seeing no one was in there indeed. But how could him escape if not by water if he didn't want to be seen by the arriving cops? Clarice wasn't absolutely sure there was no other way to escape because she wasn't familiar with the place, but as far as she knew, looking around quickly for him, she thought he really couldn't go any other way, not with the cops.  
  
Obviously, he once again proved she was wrong.  
  
She wondered fiercely where he could have gone, where he was. And the fact that she'd have a lot to explain wasn't bothering her at all.  
  
Finally, when a couple of cops went down the hill and one of them took her gun carefully from the ground, and ID-ed her, she was finally free to go.  
  
She felt eyes following her as she slowly and carefully made her away up the hill to the cops atop, inquisitively staring at her shaking form. Her eyes were somewhat glazed, empty, emotionless, did not look at them, did not bothered to check around once again and make sure -even if she already knew he wasn't there anymore- Hannibal Lecter had really gone away. She heard the faint sounds of thumps and doors opening with a crash, Feds yelling their known by heart sentences. She didn't even heard the young officer that approached her with a blanket, only felt it when he gently draped the little uncomfortable aforementioned blanket over her shoulders, making her turn in surprise and give him a scrutinizing look.  
  
"Are you all right, ma'am?" The young man asked; taking a step back, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden look Clarice was giving him.  
  
"Fine." She said with a short, bitter voice and turned away from him, walking again to where all the other feds were and when she noticed all the commotion and people everywhere, she started to feel overwhelmed herself. Suddenly she just wished she was far away from them, than to stay and face all of them, hear questions and more questions, listen to those idiots ramble on and on about how she had gotten away from Dr. Lecter with life, why she had ended without a single scar when Krendler -another idiot she hated, and to be truly honest, she didn't really care what had happened to him- had ended up without most part of his brain, which Lecter himself had said he didn't need.  
  
She could try to escape from them too, reach her car, get inside and drive to the safety of her home. She'd be in peace until they realized she had gone home and went after her; after all, she still had to give her statement of everything. Yeah, maybe she could do just that.  
  
Searching for her car her hopes suddenly were taken away from her when she realized it wasn't her who came here, but Lecter who had brought her. But... she sighed when another realization hit her, of course Lecter had taken her car, now she only had to find it. Looking about, everywhere her eyes could reach, holding in a deep breath, praying that she'd find her so beloved Mustang and to her big luck she found it parked just where all the other cars were. No way she could reach it without drawing attention to herself before she could be safely inside her Mustang. Now that she had again escaped from Lecter with life people would be over her with the same ferocity urubus hover over raw meat.  
  
She now would be the hottest topic of The Tattler. Or any other cheap newspaper in the city and out of it.  
  
She sighed rather loudly this time and with heavy steps she walked to the direction of where an ambulance was, the morphine still having effects in her, even after all the adrenaline. Maybe if she was inside it people would think she's not well and would leave her alone, with the thought of respecting an ill person. 'Not likely' she heard that annoying inner voice tell her. Sometimes she just hated her life with as much passion as she'd give anything to just disappear, vanish without a trace, go to some place no one knew her.  
  
To her luck the journalists weren't there yet -she wondered briefly why, but soon the thought left her mind as it started to become full of black spots. She couldn't deal with agents, cops and reporters all at the same time; she was only human after all.  
  
'No, Lecter, you're wrong,' she thought to herself. 'I'm not the honey in the lion.'  
  
As she reached the ambulance, the paramedics saw her and quickly met her half away, putting one hand on her elbow helping her to the ambulance rear. "Are you all right, ma'am?"  
  
She gave him a look full of her irritation and anger and using her hands to massage her temples, she answered him, with a rather annoyed voice between her clenched teeth. "Fine!" And at her sharp comeback he hesitantly started to check on her.  
  
It hadn't been even half a minute of the paramedics' cares that she heard that voice coming from somewhere on her left and she didn't really care to look up and meet his eyes. "Starling!"  
  
"Oh, god..." She moaned silently, sighing deeply, again wishing she could vanish. "Just what I needed..."  
  
"Damn it, Starling!" Pearsall exclaimed coming to a stop next to the only two people in the ambulance. She turned her head up, not really to answer him, but to give him the same look she had been giving everyone and maybe make him feel a little afraid of her. Not suck luck, tough. She was in deep now; she knew that. "Are you ok?" But before she could answer he looked at the young paramedics with them, making the same question. "Is she all right?" He asked, but his voice clear that he didn't really care.  
  
"From what I can see, she's all right, the wound on her shoulder was very precisely taken care of and will probably not show much of itself. The person who did this was very successful with closing it up as not to let any big scars later. But she still need to make exams to make sure she's internally all right."  
  
"Great." Then he brought his eyes back to her. "You know you have such a enormous luck to be alive, Starling. You could be dead, just like Krendler. For goodness' sake, did you see what that monster did to him?"  
  
"Not that he really needed his brain..."  
  
"And how the hell did you let Lecter escape?" He asked instead of replying on her bitter sentence, choosing smartly to ignore it.  
  
She knew that would come, obviously that would be the first question everyone would start with. It wasn't something she could have stopped, she tried but his desperation to escape and not be back into the confinement of a cell, he had just done what he could to go, even if it meant losing a part of himself, what he obviously didn't care of losing. And she was utterly glad it hadn't been her the one losing something. "Well, I did what I had to. I cuffed him with me but he just chopped off his hand."  
  
That, at least, got him surprised enough to lose his track of thought. He just stared at her with that dumbfounded expression, his jaw half open, fallen to the ground, lost of what to say. He shouldn't be so surprised, everyone knew what Hannibal Lecter was capable of, but the fact that he appreciated liberty so much to the point of mutilating himself as not to go back to prison meant something more to all of them. They knew just how dangerous Lecter was but they never imagined just how much he still could ever be.  
  
And Pearsall standing there, seeing Clarice Starling healthy and alive and very well taken care of let it very clear of just how much she meant to him. Killing Krendler so monstrously like he did and letting Clarice walk away with no scratches, chopping his hand off instead of hers -a little fact that he came to realize in a couple of seconds- was a lightening warning of how he felt about her and what he'd do for her. It was clear that he'd never harm her in any way, not if he could help it, but that was something Pearsall would never share with anyone -that was a small piece of information that could come very in handy in the future, which he was sure to use if the time came.  
  
"This is just to reinforce how much he wants to stay free, Starling and just how much it'll be difficult to get him." He said, matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving her face, studying her, her every move and reaction, anything that could be of his use. "And just how dangerous he can be. You will never forget this, will you, Clarice?"  
  
At the sound of her given name coming from his mouth, she shot her head up, her eyes immediately locking with his. "I never did." She answered with the same humorous; threatening sound he used and added, in an even more humorous, a false sound of inferiority. "Sir."  
  
They stared at each other, none daring the take their eyes away, daring the other to falter first, battling with their looks. Clarice Starling could be 'inferior' when talking about positions in the FBI, or whatever other place, but she was just as high quality enemy as any other, or maybe even better. Lecter knew that. Lecter told her that. She was as good as any other, better as any other person in this planet.  
  
That was something she cherished from Hannibal Lecter.  
  
And probably the only one, she quickly added to herself.  
  
When the sound of steering wheels came from somewhere, they finally broke their intense gaze to see what exactly caught their attention. The white van with inscriptions with big bold letters was very clearly announcing the journalists had finally arrived.  
  
"The show is about to start." Clarice murmured more to herself, but loudly enough so those around her could hear. Pearsall gave her a stern look and quickly left his place beside her to find a way to send those media intruders back to their little hole. Looking up at the young man with her, she gave him a smile and stood, letting her blanket fall to the floor of the ambulance. "I think I'm going home now." She said with a small, sweet but firm voice, one she hoped would make the man think twice before stopping her.  
  
Exactly what he did.  
  
She quickly made her way to the Mustang before anyone could see her, what with all the confusion that was already there mixing with the confusion the reporters were causing now, she was sure she'd be difficultly noticed. She was so tired now that she was sure if anyone tried to stop here she'd just get her gun and shoot the person down, do anything to be free of them and for a split-lightening second she thought that it was just how Lecter probably felt and gave him reasons to try so fiercely to escape.  
  
Flabbergasted with herself by the thought that just crossed her mind, Clarice hurried her pace to get to her car quicker. Her patience and strength were wearing out and her mood wasn't one of the best at the moment and the quicker she got home, the better for everyone -if she met with one, just one reporter of the Tattler she was sure she'd discount her tiredness on they as if hell had broke loose. Not that any of those cretins deserved any her consideration, but she would feel sorry for lashing out on an innocent later.  
  
A weary smile broke across her lips when her eyes met with the beauty of her loving Mustang and, with revigorated forces from somewhere she knew not, she ran to the car but, to her big dismay, she heard someone calling her name before she could enter it. Looking back just to check who was calling her she sighed softly with annoyance at Pearsall's face. How that damn man could be so damn quickly...?  
  
"Starling, where are you going?"  
  
"Home."  
  
"You can't go home now."  
  
"Try and stop me." She opened the driver's door and hoped in before he could reach her and when she was ready to turn the ignition on, she realized she had no keys. "Damn..." She murmured but not giving up on her so desired rest she searched around for the damned car keys and to her surprise she found them in the glove compartment. From where Lecter had found time to put the keys in there she had yet to discover, but that was certainly something she could do later.  
  
"Starling," Pearsall said, leaning on closer to her. "If you run now you know that they'll be over you more than you can ever imagine."  
  
"To hell with them. I can't stay here any longer." She said firmly, a hint that she'd not change her mind and that he better back off. And he did just that, he took a step back just as she accelerated and got the hell out of there.  
  
H-H-H-H  
  
The second she found herself within the safety of her house walls she couldn't stop the tears that so strongly fell from her eyes, tears she had been like letting out all day. They were so strong and hot and salty, she felt as if she was going to lose her eyes. They burned so much that she actually thought it'd be better to just take them off.  
  
She sank in the floor, her back sliding along the cold and hard wall -as if her body was made of the same thing a rag doll was made of- as she let the tears drop freely, not even making out to the couch or anywhere she could lay on, her naked back -which the dress made sure it would be- freezing her body to the core. She brought her knees to her chest and tried not to think about the situation she found herself in about only half an hour before. The stress was now coming full force, the adrenaline going away only to leave behind its usual reactions, which always came. The fear now gone only to be replaced by emptiness, grief, sorrow and that overwhelming want to kick something, and scream at anyone, anything, and brake and blame someone -anyone- for what was happening, for all that had happened to her.  
  
'You're a warrior, Clarice.' The voice that haunted her for so many years was stronger now, firm and polite, gentle, just like always -not with a single hint of irony in it.  
  
"I'm not a warrior." She breathed out to no one, in between her tears and soft, silent sobs, her voice muffled by her knees, where her head was tiredly resting. She wasn't as strong as a warrior should be, she wasn't brave and bold as a warrior should, she was just Clarice Starling... only the rube girl Dr. Lecter mocked about when they first met. Or she truly was white trash, just like Krendler stated.  
  
Only Clarice Starling, the little girl who lost her father so early in life, who couldn't save the lambs, who grew up in a orphanage, who dreamed of more than she could ever have -ever be- and even after getting what she wanted, losing it the way she did only served to prove the very fact she always dreamed too greatly high. She would never be who she wanted to be, that was a hard and difficult true fact.  
  
Wiping her tears away, Clarice became aware of where she was and wondered briefly whether she should get up or not, but the thought of a warm bed waiting her eventually won the internal battle and she finally stood, exhausted like she had never felt before. And very slowly she walked towards the stairs.  
  
Crossing the living room, she casted a quick glance at the answering machine and saw the red light was on and blinking only once. She stopped where she was, with her hand already on the handrail, a soft, almost enthralling calling to what waited her up there; and sighed, deciding what to do. But curious as Clarice ever was, won in the end her curiosity taking over her to know who had called, taking down her fatigue with one hard punch. Changing directions, she took the longest two steps of her life to the machine and hit the play button.  
  
"Good evening, Clarice."  
  
She froze immediately, for a hysterical split second she whirled, not really sure if the voice had come from the machine or somewhere in her house, wondering why in hell Lecter would go to her house, yet believing he'd never get anywhere close, not risking his freedom like that. When the moment was over and she gave her heart time to slow down again, she listened intensely to the message.  
  
"I'm sure you're not home yet, an obvious fact. Please, forgive me for the disastrous evening, and for our rude Mr. Krendler. I'm, however, content with how things turned out for him, aren't you, too Clarice?" Then he stopped speaking when a deep take in of breath replaced his voice, a muffled sound came through the machine, as if Lecter was moving something, a tissue or cloth, then another small painful noise. During the momentary silence, Clarice tried to make out all the sounds in the background, but with her mind as tired as her body was she wasn't very successful. And then Lecter's voice came in again, "I'm sorry, Clarice, just a small issue here. A lost finger hurts more than I had predicted. Be glad, my sweet Clarice, that it isn't your finger lost. You do know, I'd never harm you any way, don't you, Clarice? Well, I hope so. I really need to go now, need to get this injury fixed before my blood drains all out." At the last sentence, he chuckled slightly, and sighed deeply afterwards, taking in a deep breath again, as if the small movement of chuckling made him feel more pain. "Until next time." Then, after his voice came the soft click of a disconnected call.  
  
Clarice stayed in place, staring at the phone for endless minutes, thoughts and more thoughts invading her mind, flooding her brain and blurring her vision. She didn't know what to think, didn't know what to make of it. A part of her wished he hadn't called, hadn't given the responsibility of telling the FBI about that call, one more thing for her to worry about, one more thing to give her a headache. Yet a small part of her -the one that always followed her during the years after Lecter's first escapade- was glad he had called, for then she knew he was still alive.  
  
Bringing both hand up and pressing firmly two fingers of each hand on her temples, she massaged her head trying to rid herself of the painful headache that was coming. She really should get some sleep now. And that's what she did, using the opportunity of dozing off into dreamland until the inevitable moment her peace would be interrupted by a call or a knock on the door, from any agent, coming to bring her to the FBI, to give her words on what had happened.  
  
What would happen real soon, she knew. And she wished again she could just vanish.  
  
Disappear...  
  
Did Lecter have these same thoughts -or maybe similar thoughts- when he was in that awful gideon? In that unconfortable, dark, asylum basement? If so, in that moment Clarice truly felt sorry for him, spending eight years locked in there and not becoming mad.  
  
Oh my Lord. Now she really had to let out a deep, deserved laugh. Hannibal Lecter couldn't become maddier than he was, it was impossible. No surprise he survived so many years in there with all those people around, especially with the so 'lovely' manner Dr. Chilton treated him. Dr. Lecter had many complaints about him, which she sure remember hearing once or twice and she couldn't really blame him, that man was rather... distasteful.  
  
H-H-H-H


End file.
